


we never get this right (or, this was accidental)

by cerebella



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerebella/pseuds/cerebella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time, ages ago, when Scout would sit with him at a bar, and there'd be no Gracie. They'd drink one beer too many, and Sniper always leaned forward a little more than he perhaps would have normally, and Scout always tipped his head down, laughing until his chest ached and he fell out of his chair.</p><p>He'd take a shot every time it happened, and he always woke up cotton-mouthed and with only his own lips to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we never get this right (or, this was accidental)

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a long time since i uploaded fanfiction. it's not something i do often, but i am happy with the way this turned out. there's a temporary scout/original for the first part of this fic, but don't be put off by it. also a note: i do not know how chickens work, but i do know that they are lovely.
> 
> un-beta'd. if you're interested in changing that, inbox me.

Sniper saw what Scout saw.

Her name was Gracie.

She was lovely. She had soft, earthy eyes (there was always mascara smudged around the edges) and a contagious laugh. She had thick, brown hair, usually tied back in dreads, and calloused fingers that played the guitar better than the bushman had known was really possible for such a young kid. And she had Scout.

The girl sang at a bar in a town nearby. Sniper had heard her once or twice, though he never said anything. He was usually listening to Scout babble on about her, his adoration, his fascination. It was sweet. It really was.

*

Gracie was wonderful.

Sniper heard them laugh, heard their kisses on their cheeks, couldn't help but listen to them talk about their families and their friends and their future. (She wanted a career in environmental law, and a dog.)

He felt disgusting. It wasn't eavesdropping, and there wasn't much to eavesdrop on besides the public affectionate banter that everyone else heard anyway, but how old was he? Well into his thirties. They were ripe in their twenties, bursting with love and tenderness.

Sniper was an assassin. Scout just wanted to play baseball--he was here to support his Ma. Sniper's Ma had ejected herself into space with two bottles of bad wine in a rickety rocket to get away from him.

He kept his distance, for the most part. They went steady, they got engaged, they were married for a couple months. Scout's contract ended. He moved to San Diego, probably had a kid or two, probably got that dog. Probably took the family to a baseball game every weekend, watched him play, clapped his kid on the back.

*

Sniper had one of his dog tags. They'd been friends. They stopped talking, and Scout was miffed, but he didn't say anything. Sniper though maybe he'd just scared him off, and there was no reason for the kid to fight back anyway.

Gracie made up for him. But there wasn't much to make up for when he left. And fuck, he still thought she was wonderful.

And when Scout's Ma probably had beautiful grandchildren, Sniper was still shooting people's heads full of bullets just to have them knock the shit out of him five minutes later.

That was how it would end. Sniper would get caught, and respawn would fuck him over, and he'd go out, just like that.

Just like that.

He pinched the bridge of his noise, and sighed.

*

There was a time, ages ago, when Scout would sit with him at a bar, and there'd be no Gracie. They'd drink one beer too many, and Sniper always leaned forward a little more than he perhaps would have normally, and Scout always tipped his head down, laughing until his chest ached and he fell out of his chair.

He'd take a shot every time it happened, and he always woke up cotton-mouthed and with only his own lips to touch.

*

Headshot. Headshot.

Headshot.

He's been doing this for too long.

Headshot.

*

His dad died a couple of years later. One of Helen's croons handed him the letter. (Pauling had moved on just a couple months after Scout. She waved Sniper and Spy goodbye, and then she'd ridden off onto a motorcycle into the horizon, looking lost. She hadn't worn a helmet. Last Sniper heard, she'd stopped smelling like cigarettes, and she'd even found herself a girl called Alaska.)

He'd rolled it into a bad cigarette and smoked it, and he didn't kill anyone for a couple of days. Until Spy came up to his den and put a hand on his shoulder. (The man had been less cocky since Scout had left.)

Sniper had gone to Australia for the funeral, and he rode in the van to the house where he'd grown up, and...

...And he couldn't really leave. He sat in the armchair where he'd sit as a kid, maybe staring down at a book he couldn't read, or rubbing the head of a frog he knew would give him a rash, but not a bad enough one that it stopped him. He sat there for a few hours, and then he fell asleep.

And he kept falling asleep. Nobody ever bothered to find him. That seemed... well, it seemed like a fucking sign was what.

Helen was smart. If she didn't want to find him, then nobody did.

*

A chicken wandered onto the farm one day, when he was sitting dying outside on the porch, watching the world go by. It didn't leave. He didn't go out to meet it for a couple of days.

The chicken liked him. It fucking liked him. It let him pet it, and fuck, he cried. He kneeled down in grass that hadn't been mowed in fucking years and started crying.

Jesus christ.

It was only a few minutes. He wiped his tears, and carried the chicken inside, ginger. He left the door open. But she didn't leave. She fell asleep on the rug by the fireplace.

*

Sniper named her Dollie, with an emphasis on the 'lee'.

*

Dollie kept him going. It was strange, a man and a chicken, like something out of a fairytale. But what else was his life these days, anyway? When the sun was going down and he still hadn't gone out of bed, she came clucking into the room. And he'd sit up, and get out of bed, and get her some water. Even if he knew there was a dish by the door. Even if Dollie could have wandered away by herself, becase she came from somewhere, after all.

And when he slept through the day, he sat in the grass during the night and listened to the cicadas. And the owls. He watched the sunrise, and he stretched. His back cramped. He was no spring chicken, hadn't been for a long, long time. But Dollie was.

*

He was sitting on the porch waiting for the newspaper with Dollie sleeping at his feet, nuzzling his ankle, when he saw him.

He didn't dare recognise him at first. He didn't dare say anything, but his throat seized and his lungs ached with all the memories. The baseball cap, the single dog tag hanging around his neck.

"The hell kinda guy is cruel enough to subscribe to the fucking paper this far out? You're a jackass, you know that? You fucked up my entire route!" Sniper listened to him yell. He was exhilarated. He was horrified.

He stayed sitting down, looking down at Dollie. She stirred, and was now cocking her head (heh, cocking) at the boy stumbling and cursing angrily in the tough weeds that had taken over the lawn. He really should have mowed the place by now. It was getting harder for Dollie to wander around.

"You don't even mow your damn lawn, fuck, man, what's your deal--"

He looked up. Sniper took off his sunglasses. He was almost embarrassed.

Scout dropped the paper on the ground, and then took off running.

*

Sniper mowed the lawn. Dollie watched him on the porch, clucking in approval, apparently quite happy with this turn of events.

He wondered what Scout was doing in Australia in the first place. Maybe he'd made it big in baseball. But how old was the kid now? Christ, he was hardly a kid anymore. He must have been in his late twenties at this point.

He wondered where Gracie was. And dreadfully, he wondered if they were still together.

Maybe Scout had dropped him on his route. Sniper certainly knew he was still paying for the paper. He kept a careful eye on his money. He sold Dollie's eggs to vendors at the farmer's market once a week.

He didn't need the cash, but it was good to have. And it felt therapeutic to have half a dollar going out every week for that paper, to spend money on something besides repairs for once.

*

He'd gone into the city to buy a donut for the kid the morning he was supposed to come with the paper. It had pink icing, and sprinkles. Sniper remembered Scout would always pick that donut out of the box whenever Miss Pauling came to Teufort with a box of donuts.

When Scout arrived, he handed the paper bag to him. "From Apples. Sorry you have to come out here, you know."

Scout cocked an eyebrow at him. "What the fuck's the point of me running all the way out here if you're just gonna drive into the fucking city anyway?"

Sniper flushed. There was a pregnant pause where Scout scowled at him, bitter, and then the kid shook his head. (Christ. He wasn't even a kid anymore.)

And when Scout looked down at the bag, he took a step back. He tipped his head back, rubbed the back of his head. Fuck. He was blushing. "Aw, geez, Snipes. You remembered that shit? How long's it been?" He grinned awkwardly.

Sniper smiled faintly. "You tell me."

*

Scout usually came inside. Dollie stopped waking him up when he slept in on Mondays. Instead she'd wait by the door for Scout, and he'd pick her up and pet her. Scout had softer fingers.

He came later than he had at first, because he'd moved Sniper to the end of his route so he could go inside without delaying the rest of the papers.

It was a while before Sniper started asking real questions. He knew Scout had lived here for maybe six months now, and the job was mostly a filler for time and spare cash while he was 'working things out'.

Scout would swing his door right open (it hadn't been locked in years) and clap Sniper on the back with Dollie in one arm. And they'd chat lazily, Scout's legs on his kitchen table, arms knocking restlessly by his side, looking around the place curiously.

Sniper only had one picture of his foster family--the rest had gone to the funeral and never came back. It was taped to living room wall, next to his television.

The rest of the place was fairly bare; old, dusty furniture, and tools for repairs and whatnot. Sniper mostly lived off of his old contract money, went into the supermarket once a month to buy feed and water, and whatever else he needed to keep going through his quiet life.

Gracie and Scout were going through a divorce. No kids. Gracie found a lovely woman at work, and they'd tried it three ways. It didn't pan out. They were going through the case now--the hold-up was mostly Gracie trying to avoid an adultery charge on her file. She hadn't cheated, she'd gone to Scout as soon as she'd realised what she was feeling, but polyamory wasn't too popular these days.

Sniper listened to this quietly, watching the man in front of him stroke Dollie.

*

"Look. Stay for dinner."

"Snipes? It's uh, you know, eight in the morning."

"I stay up all night. Eight A.M. is dinner time," Sniper confessed, with a hand on his shoulder, looking awkward. Scout snorted.

"Well, yeah, okay. Sure. Whatcha got?"

*

Scout just crashed into his bed one day. Sniper woke up to find him lying on the blankets, staring at the ceiling, leaning against the wall. (He didn't have a bedframe. He slept on a mattress.)

"Scout?" He mumbled, wondering if he was dreaming.

"Papers went through. I'm fucking tired, Snipes."

A moment of silence. Scout didn't look at him. "I don't mind. Stay as long as you want."

*

Scout didn't leave. Not that day, not the next day--he look at Sniper with a questioning look every time the sun started to go down, and Sniper would smile. He liked the company. So did Dollie, apparently. For more than his soft fingers.

Scout's soft fingers. Sniper found himself staring at them again, and it was something like it was all those years ago.

*

"Snipes, you drink all the fuckin' milk?"

He was just coming out of the shower when he heard Scout bustling around in the kitchen.

"Fuck, I gotta go, you asshole, but I'm beating the crap outta you when I get back, you hear?" Scout stormed into bedroom, walking up to Sniper and pressing a finger against his bare chest. Scout glanced at the clock on the wall. "Fuck, okay, I gotta go. Love ya," he said, halfway turned around when he halted. "Uh, shit. Oops."

Sniper laughed.

*

There were damp thighs on either side of his waist that night, strong and warm. "Told ya I'd beat the crap outta ya," Scout grinned at him, smearing a kiss onto his shoulder.

"Mate, you've given me a hickey." Sniper was still finding humor in this entire situation.

"Fuck you. What have you done? Fuck all, man. I'm hard as shit and you're just lying there like I'm not rutting against you like some kind of animal," Scout grumbled, lifting his head to glare at him.

Sniper laughed. "I've been living with a chicken for four years. What makes you think I've got lube and a condom lying around here?"

"Just touch my dick, what's the hell is wrong with ya?" Scout rolled his eyes, leaning down again to kiss him.

"Fine! But we're buying condoms tomorrow, and we're both getting tested."

"Whatever, just make sure you put the fucking chicken outside next time I'm jerking us off," Scout muttered.

*

"Christ, mate. I haven't seen you in socks them high in about five years."

Scout's bent over doing his shoelaces at the front door when Sniper walks into the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He looks through between his legs and winks. "You like 'em?"

Sniper smiles, and sets down the coffee on the table. Scout leans in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching him expectantly with a twinkle in his eye.

Sniper kisses him with his hands behind his back, and Scout wraps his arms around his neck. It's the most loved he's felt in years, and when he pulls away, Scout looks disgruntled, but he drops kisses along his cheekbones and on the sun freckles on his chin, hands roaming the soft, paler skin beneath his shirt.

Scout curls fingers through his hair, breathing quietly with his eyes closed, looking at peace with his neck bared slightly while Sniper presses wet butterflies down his jaw. "Mmm. Hey. Oh, I'll be late for my route, asshole."

"Alright, alright," Sniper sighs, looking abashed. "Sorry."

Scout shakes his head, calling as he walks out the door, "You allergic to latex?"

*

Dollie sits in Sniper's lap all day, doing not much, rather listless. She's come down with something--not too bad, but Sniper mumbles in sympathy, stroking her beak and making sure not a single one of her feathers is upset.

Scout comes down and sets down a plastic bag on the table, looking excited but then sees Dollie and furrows his brows. "Snipes? She gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine. A flu, I think. What's that?" Sniper asks, glancing at the plastic bag.

"A good time is what, Snipes. But Dollie should rest. It can wait."

Sniper looks at him for a long time. He can remember again why he was always so in love with him. "I love you too," he says.

"What?" Scout raises his eyebrows. "Oh. Heh, yeah. I know, silly. Pass her here, you've got rough hands," Scout smiles, picking the sleepy chicken up gingerly and sitting himself down between Sniper's legs.

A month later, there's six baby chicks wandering around the farm.

"I guess this is my family now," Scout grins, shaking his head, a sleeping chick in hand. Sniper presses a kiss to his temple, brushing past. "I don't mind it, y'know. Shoot. This one's real cute, ain't it?"

Sniper smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> my laptop faded to black just as i decided i was happy with that last line. i thought it was cute.


End file.
